


To Hold Her Close

by thereisaredeemer



Category: The Last of the Mohicans - James Fenimore Cooper
Genre: At this time there are more chapters on FFNet than A03, Brutal Murder, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Gen, I am slow at posting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisaredeemer/pseuds/thereisaredeemer
Summary: What if Major Heyward had fired at the approaching war-party as he hid in the blockhouse? What would have been the fate of those inside? Their stores of food, water and powder were not bottomless. What would the men have had to sacrifice for the sisters to survive? How would it have affected the ending of J.Cooper's famous novel?
Relationships: Cora Munro/Uncas, Duncan Heyward/Alice Munro, Nathaniel "Natty" Bumppo & Chingachgook & Uncas
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> I have this story planned out to the end, but I have to fill in all the gaps. I know how this will end, I just don't know yet how I will get there without messing history up... Anyway I hope that all of J.F.Cooper's fans will enjoy this. It is my goal to write as many book based stories for LOTM as possible that will take time, but here is my third. Enjoy.  
> Oh, and the dialogue in the brackets is English, and the italics are Uncas' thoughts.

A gentle July evening breeze wafted the sounds of many soft voices to my ear. I froze. _Yes…yes. These were the sounds of approaching men._ By the language they used I knew them to be Hurons from the north. The traitorous 'runner' had found his friends and family among the French allied Indians.

"The Mohicans hear an enemy!" Hissed Hawkeye at my shoulder as he noticed my riveted attitude. [They scent danger in the wind!]

_How many men? How many..._

[God forbid!] Murmured the English soldier. [Surely we have had enough of bloodshed! 'Tis some creature of the forest prowling around us in quest of food.]

I shook my head at the idea. The approaching sounds were made by men—many men. _How many Mingoes?_

[Hist, 'tis man; even I can now tell his tread, poor as my senses are when compared to an Indian's! That scampering Huron has fallen in with one of Montcalm's outlying parties, and they have struck upon our trail. I shouldn't like, myself, to spill more human blood in this spot, but what must be, must! Lead the horses into the block-house, Uncas; and, friends, do you follow to the same shelter. Poor and old as it is, it offers a cover, and has rung with the crack of a rifle afore to-night!]

I obeyed wordlessly, still listening and trying to estimate the number of foes who tracked us. The sounds of approaching footsteps were now too distinctly audible to leave any doubt in the minds of my white companions as to the nature of the interruption, but I had yet to know their number. When the war-party reached the place where the horses had left the woods they halted, evidently uncertain of something. Of what I could not imagine.

As I listened I made out the individual voices of twenty men, maybe more.

[The knaves know our weakness,"] whispered Hawkeye to all and none, himself perhaps, [or they wouldn't indulge their idleness in such a squaw's march. Listen to the reptiles! Each man among them seems to have two tongues, and but a single leg.]

Then I heard _his_ voice, the words were too distant and too foreign for me to translate, but I knew the voice. It belonged to Le Renard Subtil. He was leading the group.

A moment later, by the rustling silence, it was apparent to me that the Hurons had separated in pursuit of something. It was not long, though, before I perceived the Hurons once more gradually approaching the small clearing. I unslung my musket and knelt, balancing the stock against my shoulder. Behind me the women huddled together on the bed of brush. The horses swished their tails and were still, some how understanding the urgent need for utmost silence. Soon the Hurons were so close that even the major could hear the advancing footfalls. At my side Chingachgook softly rammed his rod down the barrel of his gun.

[They are coming,] muttered the young Englishman into the stillness, thrusting his rifle through a chink in the logs; [let us fire on their approach.] Even as he spoke he fired his musket.

 _You fool! Do you realize that there was a chance, however slim, that they would pass us by? You…you…you ignorant man! Do you know that you have sentenced us all to sure death? You have sentenced your women to living death._ My thoughts were a jumbled mess as I tried to sort out what I thought of the man who would, I knew, die willingly for the white women but who had just, like the untested warrior of the frontier he was, made the greatest mistake he could have.

Hawkeye bit back a curse out of respect for the women present and grimly fired his own piece. A man screamed. I sighted along the long barrel of my gun and found the ribs of a startled Huron. _A major of the English army you may be, but leave the frontier to the colonists and the redmen! They will die, your women will die!_ I touched the trigger and the gun quickly discharged its contents. In an instant the woods outside were alive with yells and whoops as the enemy got over their surprise and dove for cover. _I swore to protect you, I swore_ Cora _I would not let you or your sister fall to the blade or tomahawk of a Huron warrior. The girl, the Light-hair, the child, she will be murdered, is that what you wanted? Major Heyward, is this the outcome you wished?_

With a grim set of the face, I settled myself in for a hard fight. Nearly every minute my musket kicked back against my shoulder. The moon began to its path across the starry heavens. Soon it shed its light down within the walls of the old blockhouse. The horses were restless, the women huddled in silence. In a pause in the fire, I heard the sound of choked sobs; I turned and saw Cora, the dark eyed one, siting staring up at the sky, dry eyed, but clasped to her bosom was her shaking sister. The older girl rocked gently and through the ringing of my ears I heard her soft, full voice singing.

[…under the starlight,  
The muskets fire, the warriors fight.  
Lay down your head and close your sapphire eyes,  
And when again 'tis dawn you will arise.  
Here 'tis safe, here 'tis warm,  
Hear the guns,—]

The sharp report of a Huron musket startled the younger of the two maidens and she shrieked, but her sister continued undisturbed; her voice rose above the echo,

[—they guard you from every harm,  
Hear the Hurons' pieces, their aim—]

Chingachgook fired in return, drowning out her next words. I turned back to my task, still cursing the major inwardly for the situation he had placed us in. Then in the briefest of silences I hear her voice once more—

[Hear me sister, I love you.]

Again the exchange of lead was rapid and unrelenting. Within the space of an hour my shoulder was sore and tender to the touch, my ears were ringing, and my lungs were burning from inhaling the smoke created by the muskets. With the haze that had been created outside, clear visible targets were nonexistent, even with the pale rays of the moon. In any event four rifles were too few to keep the Maquas at bay for long. Of the twenty some that I knew were gathered, only four had fallen in my estimation. But though my shoulder was bruised and blistered, I continued on with my father and his brother and the Englishman.

In the block-house we spoke not a word, but the screams of the frightened horses rang loudly in the small enclosure with the small explosions of the muskets. When I could, I spared a glance at the Monro sisters; Cora was crouched over her younger sister, Alice, who, it appeared, had fainted. Then her voice, low and choked vibrating in the sudden absence of sound, rose up.

[Far deep in the woods, our father lays  
In a fort of wood bathed in moonbeam rays.  
Forget the screams, and horrid cries of war,  
And listen to your sister till the bloody racket is o'er.  
Here 'tis safe, here 'tis warm,  
Hear the guns, they guard you from every harm,  
Hear the woodsmen's pieces, their aim always is true;  
Hear me sister… I love you.]

Tears come unbidden to my eyes at the genuine display of sisterly love.

At the coming of the dawn Hawkeye's face was drawn with care. Sweat streaked his smoke greyed countenance as he sipped at the flask Cora handed him. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and passed it on to me. I took a small sip of the liquid and swished it in my bitter tasting mouth as I watched Hawkeye ram his rod down the barrel of 'Killdeer'. With a slight grimace I removed my dark tunic. Even in the dim light I could see the new blood stain. From the corner of my eye I could see Cora wince as she took in the injury.

From the pouch at my waist I took some herbs and pressed them into my mouth. I began to chew them, mixing them with the water and saliva in my mouth. Hawkeye raised a wry eyebrow as he caught sight of my shoulder.

"I have ne'er seen a worse case of hunter's shoulder. How did you mange it, boy? One 'twould think ye went out of thy way to attract the most unlikely of injuries."

I spat the foul tasting concoction into my hand and slathered it onto the bloody blisters. It would do nothing for the bruising, but it would numb the pain and and accelerate healing. Hawkeye often ribbed me for the strange collection of scares I bore. One, on my arm, caused by the teeth of an angry deer when I pet her fawn as child, was Hawkeye's favorite to tease me about. The meaning of my name—Bounding Elk it meant—was no defense though I could outrun every man I had ever matched myself against. [I manage it,] I muttered under my breath as the medicine began to sting.

Hawkeye shook his head, his playful manner shedding to reveal his true anxious attitude. "Our powder and lead will be out by the morrow's dawn, Uncas. Ye know the state of our food and water stores."

He gave me a significant look as I took another sip of the precious water. I nodded and glanced down at the singer's unconscious head. Enough water for those defending the cover as well as for the feverish man would soon be gone, water for the women at their leisure was nonexistent. For sustenance we had but what little meat was left over from our feast at the salt springs and any other small morsels that the group of whites had brought.

"We have pledged our service to these women," Hawkeye continued, glancing at Cora where she stood waiting for me to pass her back the gourd, "I am certain that the young major will willingly agree to stay here—die here—for those fair creatures. Your father and I are growing old, Uncas, and 'twould be fitting—though ironic if our last battle should be waged upon the same ground as was our first."

My eyes darted up to his face incredulously. "Ye would have me escort the women to 'William Henry' alone?"

"Thy language barrier is not so great as you would pretend. Ye speak the English quite fluently."

I ignored the remark, "You would be willing to—" he shot and the resulting noise covered the unmanly catch in my voice. "You would be willing to die for a fool of a man?"

Hawkeye turned his face to mine, "Yes m'boy. For a clear conscience I would send you from the battle tonight and with you those two pure, delicate creatures whom God never intended to be made to witness such things as they have these past days." He gestured at the dark haired woman standing by us.

I began bandaging my shoulder and the sudden gust of smoke which the wind carried in hid the contortion of my face. "Uncas will do it. The Hurons will rue the day they slew Hawkeye and the son of Unamis."

Hawkeye nodded and touched my back gently as he turned back to his side of the small fortification. I handed Cora the water and she took it calmly. For a moment I watched her.

_Would she be strong enough to walk the whole way to 'William Henry'?_

_Would her sister be?_

Only time would tell. I could not know till I was in the woods with them. I would have to stake everything on the hope that Cora would be able to keep her sister going.

_Could they outrun a war party in the event that we were detected?_

_No._

So w _ould I be able to protect them both?_

_No._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without giving away the contents of the chapter, I need to request that you just remember that I have my reasons for what I do with the characters.

In the late afternoon I caught my father's eye as he defended the eastern wall of the fortification and he gave me his rare smile. It was wry and tinged with sorrow, but it conveyed to me all his love and pride. He left his place and came to lean against the wall beside me.

"Uncas," he murmured, "panther of the tribe of the Delaware, pride of the Wapanachki, child of my love," He looked me full in the eyes, "go with thy father's blessings. May thy blade be ever sharp and they lead ever true, may ye find a woman worthy of thy love and may she bare you many children.  
"Remember my words my son, and never drink of the fire-water; only trust a man who has proven himself your friend. Listen to the counsel of those around you, but do not be blind to the lies of a flatterer. You are a sagamore from the greatest nation. On the morrow I will go down into the valley, ye have yet a long climb till you reach the summit of the hill; tarry up the path and do not be too eager to follow, for you are the last of the Mohicans."

After his sudden lengthy speech he was silent and, in an extraordinary display of emotion, he took my face in his calloused hands and kissed my forehead. Then he turned back to his task with renewed vigor and a fierce light in his eye. None who saw him then could have guessed he could show such affection as he had to me but a moment before.

I blinked away a telltale tear and finished loading my musket. Savagely I lifted it to my shoulder, the dull pain, which was the only reminder of the injury there, was welcome to me and it cleared my mind. I closed my finger around the trigger as I caught sight of a flash of red-bronze skin through a chink in the logs. The weapon kicked back, but gently for I had been careful with my powder charger, and the man at whom I had aimed fell forward with a strangled scream that was lost amidst the other sounds of the echoing warfare of the woods.

I harnessed my grief and poured it out in the direct and effectual fire which I kept up till the [knavish Iroquois,] as Hawkeye called them, were content to stay out of the range of my piece and to make their main attack on the northern side where the Englishman held his post.

At some point Hawkeye must have related his scheme to the red-coated soldier, and he to the females, for, as the fading light was deepening into blackness, the two fair skinned women ranged themselves before me. The younger of the two, the one who was quick to smile and wore her golden hair braided up atop her head, was pale and trembling and she looked at me with something akin to barely contained terror, but the elder's face was firm and set with determination. Her long, raven locks still fell down her back in disarray like they had the afternoon before when they had nearly been severed from her skull.

All this I noticed as I turned from my post and wiped my face with my sleeve. I then set about packing the scarce stores of food—mostly leftover scraps of venison which would not keep long in the warm weather—and my father's paint pigments and medicinal herbs into a small deerskin pack. Atop the food I stuffed our extra lead and powder, leaving only enough to last my male companions till dawn.

A hand descended on my shoulder and I looked up into the rugged face of my mentor, the scout.

"Ye will be making thy way to 'William Henry', 'tis the father of these two damsels who commands the place, a honorable man by the name of Monro. He is a colonel in the king's army. Here 'tis a message to him from Webb. I shan't be traversing the woods any longer, so 'twill be of little use to keep the letter on me. Take it to the man, the general seemed to think it of great importance." Then he unslung the leathern letter-case from his shoulder and handed it to me. "God bless ye lad."

He turned away and began examining 'Killdeer' soberly, suddenly he turned back to me and thrust the rifle into my hands. "I couldn't bare to live my last moments thinking of her in the hands of some ill trained Mingo! Her the jewel of the frontiers! No—better that you should have the weapon, 'twas always my intent to give her to ye someday." I took the long-barreled true-grooved rifle in my hands reverently. It was Hawkeye's most prized possession, and from an early age, I had come to respect it.

I looked up at my friend, but he had retrieved my musket from the dirt floor and taken his place on the western wall. I slung the weapon across my back and adjusted the strap to better fit my frame.

When my preparations were finished I slung the pack on my left shoulder and turned back to the women. The younger had found comfort in the arms of Cora and there she rested, able to face me without fear. Cora eyed me cooly, but I could discern the sorrow, which she had hid from her sister, lurking in the depths of her gaze. For an instant I surveyed the two and measured their strength in the darkness. _She will never last. She wasn't made for a journey on foot. Neither of them were, but the girl, she will be slow._

I opened my mouth, [Uncas will take the Light-hair first. We go now,] I declared.

I saw the look of fear flash in her eyes, but she pressed it down and she nodded her understanding. Taking the young girl by the waist I swung her light body up onto the rotting logs in a section of the building where no roof had been erected of over twenty-five years. Then, nimbly, I sprang up beside her and lifted her down upon the grass. Slowly, silently, painstakingly, I edged with her out of the clearing and into the dark woods. The hand which clutched my arm trembled, but kept firm. Her skirts swished and she stumbled more often than not. She seemed in the darkness to find me less terrifying than the trees which caught at her hair, and she clung to me like the child she was. Though I knew she must have been nearer sixteen then ten, I could not but help but be reminded of a child when I saw her face or heard her voice.

When we had progressed a hundred rods or so I halted under a large, old, spreading oak tree. Its thick branches and dense foliage was perfect for my purposes. I grasped her waist suddenly and began hoisting her into the tree. She shrieked in surprise and I cursed under my breath in my own language. [You must climb the tree. 'Tis safer.] I directed her in a hiss.

Then, without waiting for a response, I boosted her up onto one of the lower branches and, taking hold of a limb above my head, drew myself up after. I wove my way through the branches till I was above her, and then I helped her up higher and higher till her skirts no longer hung down below the lowest branch.

[Be silent as the night-owl's wings.] I cautioned, in the darkness I could see her nod. Then I dropped to the earth with a light thud and made my way back to the edge of the clearing.

As I hovered on the edge of the trees, I waited impatiently for a pause in the now rapid exchange of fire. I was crouched in the cover of a sugar maple three rods from the southern wall of the old fortification. It was to this wall which I had so studiously defended all the preceding day and night that I had made my way in hopes of finding an easy path to the interior. Only my inherent caution had saved my life, for if I had not paused to listen to the whistling of the lead which flew over head, I would likely have been cut down by the random, ill aimed and sporadical fire which the elderly and untrained singing master scattered about the place. After a time I became more accustomed to the shots which hailed down around me. I noted that he took his time while refilling his charger and so, when I saw my chance, or rather, I heard it, I dashed forward, and bounding across the space I vaulted the wall and came amidst my friends.

Immediately one of the horses reared up in fright at my sudden advent at its side. The great beast rose majestically in the dark and let out a scream of terror as it pawed at the air before it. Then another shriek pierced the air—that of Cora. I heard Hawkeye shout a curse on all horseflesh and then immediately cry, presumably to the major, that he cared not who heard his foul language. In that moment I lunged forward and dragged the petrified woman from beneath the descending hooves to the safety and shelter on the southern wall.

She gasped and clung to my arm. [Thank you!] Her breath came fast and quick as she recovered from her fright. [Thank you, I don't know what came over me!]

But neither my ears nor my eyes were directed toward her. In the smoky darkness I searched for the dark shape of my father. And though I heard the familiar crack of his musket and knew that he stood on the eastern side of the blockhouse, I could not discern his figure amidst the smoke.

[Is that you, the younger of the Mohicans?] The words of the old singer brought my duty once more to the forefront of my mind.

[It is Uncas,] I answered as I wrapped my arms around Cora's waist and lifted the woman up onto the logs. She was heavier than her sister, taller and fuller, but my muscles were strong, hardened by life in the wilderness. No weakling could draw back a bowstring and send the arrow truly, nor could he paddle upriver to the base of Genn's. I took a half step back and darted forward, placing my hands on the mossy wall. My momentum carried me up and I scrambled atop, throwing my leg across and sitting up. I turned my attention on Cora only to see her slipping confidently to the ground below.

"Hugh!" I murmured under my breath. _Who was this woman whose pride and honor was greater than that of her nation's leaders? She would refuse to accept a life given freely on her behalf and she would lift her face in the midst of danger to her God and take courage in her strait and give it freely._

I slipped down, and half dragging her, I sprinted, half bent over, for the cover of the woods. She ran by my side, her skirts puffing out and tangling with my legs despite her best efforts to control them. She stumbled sometimes, but from her swift stride I caught the idea that there had been a time—probably in her childhood—when she had run unhindered by the strange fashions of her people.

Again I wondered who she was, for she was unlike any woman of her people I had met or heard spoken of.

The wind had died and the musket smoke hung low in the small clearing. From the northern edge, and also now, the western rim, small spurts of flame illuminated the dark night. No stars were visible; the moon had yet to rise; all was murky. Every few seconds an explosion of sound broke through the smoke, the chants and howls of the Wyandots composed the hellish music to which the dance of death was preformed. Now and again a different yell broke in upon the rhythm—my father's battle challenge.

A stray bullet barked my side, cutting across my ribs and I was thankful that the untrained ears of the woman at my side had not detected the whistling piece of metal. Pain lanced across my torso briefly, and warmth spread slowly. But I suffered no exclamation of pain to escape my lips. To have cried out would have alerted the enemy of our scheme and they would have quickly taken their advantage.

Once we had gained the cover of the trees I slowed our pace to a walk. For many minutes we progressed through the dark woods and I heard nothing other than the howling behind us and the heavy panting of the woman at my side. I assisted her over a fallen tree and led her blind feet around an outcropping of rock. Her hand on my arm was at some times light and at others a death grip.

Then, without warning, a woman's high pitched and petrified scream rent the stuffy air. Beside me, Cora froze mid step. I paused to listen, for a moment confused and disoriented. The cry rose above the sounds of the muskets and lasted till, just as suddenly, it was cut off. As if coming out of a trance the woman at my side gasped and lunged forward, uttering the name: [Alice!] as she went.

 _Alice! The pale child… she must have…._ Words fled my mind and only the sense of urgency remained. That I must reach the helpless girl I knew at the very core of my being. That I must protect her from some danger I could surmise from the fear which had dripped from that awful plea for help.

My long, well-exercised legs quickly outdistanced the skirt-encumbered and unfit sister whose selfless and motherly nature had sent her sprinting sightlessly toward the location of the girl. As I ran I never once forgot my years of practice, and I dodged each low hanging limb and hurdled every obstacle in my path with the agility which was for me my second nature. As I reached the base of the old oak, I saw a dark shadow crouched over some pale heap. My hand reached for my girdle, and from it I drew my long knife. Then I was upon them. I jerked the Huron off his victim roughly and passed my ready blade into his heart. He had not time even to be startled.

I thrust him from me and crouched beside the still form of Alice. I gently touched the side of her neck in my search for a pulse, but instead I encountered a stream of hot blood. I passed my hand over her mouth, but no breath brushed my fingers. She was deader than the venison I had partaken of the night before. Her throat was cut cleanly. I stood, wiping my wet hands on her dress. For a moment I stood above her, rethinking my plans. _I can travel faster with only one to guide… but she may not wish to leave…._

I turned as Cora stumbled to her knees beside her sister. Above, in the sky, the stars broke through the vanishing smoke and shed their dim light into the dimmer recesses of the forest.

[Alice, Alice! Answer me… please. Alice….]

I lifted the sobbing woman up. [The 'Light-hair' is dead.] She choked and her whole person shuddered and she tried to fight me off with her nails.

[Alice! Alice!]

I did not try to fend off her attacks, but let her rake my cotton shirt with her fingers. I had no experience with women of any color. Those of my own people which I had seen on occasion were solemn and stern. Of her's, I had seen but little, being more often on the war front than in the settlements. At a loss, I released her. [Uncas will cover her so that the Hurons will not find her.] I did not add that I had not the time nor the materials to protect her from the wolves and other beasts of carrion. Without response she sank down once more. [Then we must go,] I said, but she did not seem to hear.

With a shrug of my sore shoulders I turned away and, more by feel than sight, cut and gathered branches and leaves and dry loam over the slight corpse.

By the time I had finished, Cora, by a great effort, had silenced her cries. Then I took her arm gently but firmly and led her away from the small mound. I was slightly surprised when she followed meekly, but I only added her fortitude to her list of virtues. When the light of the rising moon began to filter through the boughs above I halted in a thicket.

[We rest now,] I declared, dropping to my knees and crossing my arms over them, looked to the north.

Cora obediently sank down a few feet from me, but she did not rest. How could either of us? Our family, our friends—they had volunteered their lives so that we might live. Not that it had saved the life of Alice. Her lover would die believing he had saved her. Perhaps that was the best way for a man to die—believing that he had sacrificed himself to save another. Thus, in mutual silence, suffering, and sorrow we passed the night listening to the rolling echoes of the guns. The moon set and with it silence descended. I listened on. The blood from the small flesh wound across my lower right ribs dribbled down my stomach and dried there as it clotted itself. I glanced at the woman beside me, and saw that she now slept against a sapling. Her head rested back against the young tree in an uncomfortable position. Every now and again she would stir. In the clear darkness I could only just see her eyes roving beneath her closed lids. I turned away and once more faced north.

Cora slept fitfully, waking often with a start and a half smothered sob. When she did so I would turn to her and watch her till her eyes once more closed. Then I would resume my vigil.


	3. Chapter 3

Then at dawn, as the shadows were lifting, it came. The long, victorious war-whoop lifted high into the cool morning air. There was a sharp report from my old rifle and a fierce yell from my father. Then another loud, wailing whoop which continued and continued rose up from the Hurons. It seemed to have a life of its own as it rose and fell in pitch, growing ever in volume. Every muscle in my body tensed, aching to run to my family's aid, but I had a task which duty and honor required of me. I did not move, but glanced at Cora; her face was pale and drawn, her eyes were red from weeping and her jaw was set. She met my gaze with an absent, vacant look. I turned away from her, the woman from last night was sadly changed. It seemed that with her sister she had lost her strength and joy in life. The woman who had sung in the midst of battle was gone. Whether she would ever return was a question that only time could answer. Of a sudden a shout of triumph and jubilee was raised, then I bowed my head and hid my running tears from her.

[They are dead,] I murmured brokenly for my companion's benefit, then I spoke no more. A sob that broke from her throat was the only indication she gave of having heard my words. Then she turned inward on herself and was silent.

I let the burning drops drip down my cheeks, I did not have the strength of will to hold them back. _What did I care if a woman saw me?_ I asked myself savagely. _What did I care for anything? They were dead…for me._

I did not raise my head until many minutes later when the crack of a breaking branch alerted me to the presence of another person. Immediately I was alert, not because I wished to leave my mourning, but because the habits ingrained in me since childhood were too strong for me to put them off in a moment.

Cora was silent, I would have though she was asleep if not for the steady swaying of her person as she strove to collect herself. My eyes peered through the thick green foliage of the thicket and I saw the buckskin-legginged legs of the man who had stepped upon the twig. He was walking softly searching the ground for something. He turned over the leaves and raked the dirt with his fingers. He was tracking someone.

On the other side of our hideaway a man called something out in the Huron dialect which I could not decipher. Then from another direction came the call of, 'Brother' and I knew their errand.

Cautiously I shifted my stance so that I could, at a moments notice, leap upon any who appeared. All around us men combed the woods in search of their missing comrade. Why they did not immediately find him I will never know for I had left him lying in plain sight for all to see. But as it was they found him at mid afternoon when the heat was greatest and the sun was at its peak. Their yells of anger and loss created such a racket, so near us, that the woman at my side raised her head and for a moment came out of her daze to look around her. Soon, though, realizing that we had not yet been discovered, she sank back into her dumb, deaf, and blind state. Then I watched her, if only to redirect my thoughts to someplace less morbid.

At times she would sit curled up, her face hidden in her hands, at others she would raise her head with fierce anger sparking from her flashing eyes, but always she was silent. Always she seemed to be forgetful of my presence.

As dusk fell the cries of the men searching for revenge ceased and I dared to hope that the party had left the region. Cautiously I relaxed and redistributed my weight so that my numb feet would awaken. Eventually I stood to my full hight and stretched my back and arms. The pain of my injuries suddenly reappeared and I winced perceptibly as a scab cracked on my shoulder.

Then I knelt on the ground and felt in my pouch for my medicinal herbs and for the flask of water. I washed the wound on my side and bound it up with a strip torn from my tunic. Then I changed the bandage on my shoulder and reslathered the blisters with the herbal concoction. _Soon,_ I thought, _I will have to go without my tunic._ As the darkness lowered I took a sip of water and then shook Cora. She did not move. Once more I shook her shoulder. She raised her head but did not seem to see me.

Without experience with women, I did not know to be gentle or nurturing, I did not know anything other than how my father and Hawkeye had treated me, my mother was but a vague memory. Some part of me told me that a woman's mind was different than a man's, that she was breakable, that she was more easily insulted, but I knew not how then to act on that knowledge. So I grasped her chin in my hand and forced the mouth of the flask to her lips and poured the water down her throat. That was what Hawkeye had done to me when I was a boy, sick and unable to raise my head to drink of my own violation. She choked and jerked away from me, suddenly aware of all, but she did not speak. I handed her some cold venison. She scowled at me but ate it, then she turned her back on me. Taking that show of emotion as a good sign, I sighed under my breath and whispered, [Uncas is sorry the young one is dead, she was like the bright flowers of the summer.]

Cora did not move an inch. In all probability she had not heard me. But she continued to gnaw at the meat. [Why are you guiding me to 'William Henry?] She demanded harshly, still with her back to me.

Surprise flashed across my face. _Why do you wish to know that?_ [Hawkeye requested it. 'Tis my duty.] I replied.

She nodded, apparently satisfied, and spoke no more to me and after a few minutes I realized that she was asleep. _Women are conundrums,_ I decided as I lay myself down to catch a bit of rest in the quiet of the night _._ I would have little rest in the coming days. Not till we reached the fort could I expect sleep.

At the coming of the dawn I awoke and wet my throat with the last of the stale water. Then I stood, and with swift strides found my way to the small clearing in which the blockhouse smoldered. I filled the water flask from the spring and drank my fill and washed my face, pouring the ice-cold liquid down my neck. Then I turned and for a brief moment surveyed the burning grave of my father. An instant later I was gliding back to the thicket.

Cora was awake when I arrived and she gave me a tired, but intelligent glance. She stood and brushed her skirt off, [I am ready,] she declared.

I nodded and picked up my pack and slung 'Killdeer' over my shoulder. Then I slipped out of the thicket with her at my heels. With a swift glans around at the tree trunks I started off at a slow pace. The path I chose led north and west and for many hours I matched my stride to Cora's slow steps. The lively hues of the forest and the joyful songs of the few birds distracted me at times from the memories of the burning sepulcher of rotting pine wood. But even the familiar beauty could not blot out entirely the loneliness which stemmed from the knowledge that I was the last of the Mohicans.

_My father is dead…._

No longer would I hear his voice or see his stern countenance, no longer would he laugh with Hawkeye over the half-forgotten memory of some embarrassing exploit from years before, no longer would I hear his gun and know that I was safe from harm, no longer did he walk the earth….

_My father is dead…._

I kept my eyes on the moss of the trees, at times I would glance up at what parts of the sky that showed through the thick leaves and mark the direction of the migrating geese. At midday I took the last of the venison from the pack and divided it between myself and the silent white woman at my side. She took the proffered meat and began tearing at it with her teeth, that was enough for me. I raised my portion to my teeth and tore off a small bite. The meat had little added flavor, there had been no salt or herbs with which to season it, and only the scent of woodsmoke tinged its natural flavor. I savored it as I chewed thoughtfully. It was good, familiar, nourishing—I swallowed the bite and bit off another mouthful.

In the late afternoon, when the sun was burning golden-orange and the clouds were tinged with scarlet and yellow, and the dim shadows were growing longer, Cora stumbled and fell to the ground. I stopped mid-stride and crouched down to her level, inquiring by my gaze for a reason. For several long moments she did not speak or give any indication of _any_ reason. But I waited patiently, knowing that when she was ready she would explain herself. Finally, with a soft red blush creeping up her cheeks, she raised her skirt a few inches and carefully unlaced and removed her black riding shoes, reveling her bloody brown stockings. I recognized the signs of blisters immediately, and as I drew off her stockings, only wondered how she had walked so far without complaint.

Gently, sympathetically, I treated her feet. From the pouch at my waist I took some herbs and stuffed them into my mouth then I poured some water into my full mouth and began to chew, mixing the herbs with the water and saliva. Then I spat out the stuff onto my hands and gently spread it over her small feet and heels. When I had finished I tore off two hand breaths from the bottom of her skirt. She seemed surprised, but made no objection. These strips I tore again and bound her feet up in them in such a way as to create cotton moccasins. When I was a finished I was a less than happy with the outcome, but it would have to do. Her boots, though they were, perhaps, worth much in the settlements, were less than worthless to me so I calmly buried them. It would not do to leave a clear trail for anyone to come across. Cora didn't raise any objection so I did not glance her way as I prepared to spend the night there.

If she had been a man I would have insisted we push on till nightfall, as she wasn't I prepared myself for short, slow marches, perhaps covering five to seven miles a day…at most. Ahead of me the miles suddenly rolled out. What would have taken me but a day and a half to run could now take days, even weeks. The letter Hawkeye had entrusted to my keeping weighed heavily on my mind. It would be very late in coming to 'William Henry'. Leaving Cora hidden away and pushing on by myself was not an option after what had happened with Alice. I could not leave my charge again.

I handed Cora the last of the meat and began erecting a small shelter of bent saplings and dead branches. Beneath it I lay a carpet of dry leaves. When it was finished I beckoned Cora toward it and she gratefully lay down upon it.

For a moment I surveyed her, then I turned away and slipped through the trees. A good ways from where I had left her I built my snare and baited it. The I returned. Cora was siting up looking around, probably for me, for when I appeared she once more lay herself down. But she did not sleep. No. When I approached and sat down near her, just under the overhang of the roof, she flinched away. I could not understand her so I ignored her.

Eventually she slept.


	4. Chapter 4

The night was long, and I had no respite from my watch as I would have had if I had been traveling with my late companions. The darkness was oppressive instead of freeing which was unusual for me. I was alone, there was none to see me weep, yet I could not cry. My time of mourning was done. I had wept when they died I had no tears now, only emptiness and anger. So the night passed, and my eyes roved alertly but there was no disturbance in the darkness. I strained my ears, but the Hurons were gone.

At dawn I shook Cora awake gently. Her eyes opened, she blinked in confusion and then brushed me away. She sat up stiffly and began combing her fingers through her tangled hair. Satisfied that she was awake I bounded to my feet and set off for my snare at an energetic lope. I could not find it in me to smile as I ran, but I did find myself enjoying the cool dew splattering my face as I swept past water laden branches. Within a few minutes I had found my snare, now sprung and loaded down with a mid-aged rabbit. With steady fingers I removed the dead animal and allowed my trap to spring back into the shape nature first made it. Then I covered the flurry of tracks made by the rabbit as it struggled; it would not do to leave a mark of our presence. Then I picked up the meat and slipped back to the camp.

As I went I gathered dry timber for a smokeless blaze from the forest floor. Coming suddenly to the place where I had made my shelter the presiding evening I paused behind a tree. Cora was sitting where I had left her, beneath the pitiful overhang, braiding her hair down her back. She did not notice my presence near her so I did not at once disturb her. Instead I watched as her soft, uncalloused fingers wove her braids deftly. She had not wept yestereve and now as I watched her I saw that she had buried her emotions so deep as to be able to look about her with… approval, for lack of a better word. I stepped from behind the tree and approached her. She glanced up and nodded to me absently.

I kindled a quick fire and began skinning the cottontail. I heard the gasp beside me and turned my head to see Cora staring in fascinated horror at my bloody hands and the rabbit. I looked between her and the meat and then shifted so that my back was between her and the animal. I did not ask her what had startled her, it was too obvious that she disliked the sight of blood. I could easily understand the feeling, but she would need to become used to it—blood was the law of the wilderness.

I buried the bones and innards, but kept the skin for latter use, and began cooking the meat on a small spit fashioned of a green stave. As it roasted I could not but help noticing how impractical it was for me to cook as well as break camp, but I would not request anything of Cora. As it happened she volunteered herself for the job of holding and turning the spit to allow me to dismantle the shelter. I was pleasantly surprised to find that she was not entirely devoid of culinary skills. The meat was entirely cooked, abet slightly burned on one side, but still good. We ate our fill and drank sparingly of our water, then we set out.

The pace I set was brisker then yesterday's, but soon it had slowed considerably as Cora, wearing only the bandages on her feet for protection, limped along, leaning heavily on my arm. Over roots and fallen tree limbs, through clearings and open sandy places, across small rivulets and around boulders we trekked. The sun rose steadily and depending on whether we were in the shade or open we were comfortably warm or hot and sticky. Every now and again I glanced at my charge, wondering how she fared, but she did not speak. Finally I simply kept my gaze on my path. The hand on my elbow was steady and tight and the feet at my side faltering and sore, but she did not stumble over-much. I was confident in her ability to withstand discomfort.

[I must stop, I canst go no further without rest,] she panted at midday.

[A little longer, then we shalt rest,] I replied. There was a creek nearby which could be used for drinking, as well as for bathing if Cora wished. It would also give us a straight and easy path for many miles till it turned out of our way. As I had thought, the creek was soon within hearing range and moments later it appeared. On its grassy bank we halted and I tended to her once more bloodied feet. I sighed aloud as I saw the angry blisters and she noticed. With a wry expression she said, [I now wish that Magua had seen to it that my sister and I were shod like the men, but he did not believe it a necessary precaution for we were mounted.]

[No,] I agreed, [it would have been an unnecessary trouble. But moccasins are far better suited for one who walks far under the trees.] For a moment I considered giving her mine, but saw the futileness of that action for my feet were far larger and it would destroy them to alter their shape. _The rabbit-skin is a far better plan. Another two and it will be enough._

I took the strips of cloth and washed them in the river as best I could without a fire and hot water, but I did not think infection would get in. The open wounds were looking well, if agitated with constant use. I rewrapped her feet carefully and the outcome was more to my liking than the last.

I then divided the leftover meat into two pieces, one I replaced in my hip-pouch, the other I once more tore in twain. We ate in the silence which seemed to define our relationship. She would only bother me if she needed something, and I would only speak if spoken to, or if I required some action from her. I allowed Cora to finish the water and then waded out, barefoot, to refill to the flask. When I returned, splashing water up to my thighs, I noticed her eyeing the water longingly.

[Bathe if ye wish, I will be near if you need me.]

She looked between me and the water then back again. Her face scrunched up as she weighed her options, suddenly she nodded. [Good.]

_When did she become like me in her lack of words? The woman before would have thanked me and commented on her relief, now she speaks as little as possible or in spurts. Though, I do not blame her._

I turned abruptly and made my way along the bank, entering the water only when the trees had thoroughly obscured the area behind me. I would no go far, but I would test the waters for deep pits and slippery rocks. For a good quarter mile I waded, holding my moccasins out of the water with my hand. _The best way to continue,_ I decided _, will be to wade downstream. But,_ my practical mind objected _, to do so will aggravate Cora's blisters._

Only a trial would tell, I would ask her when I retuned how her feet had fared in her bath. Then I saw it. I had not been paying close attention to the backs on either side other than to acknowledge that they were too over grown to serve as an easy pathway, I now cursed myself for that negligence. As it was I could have missed many other signs.

_Cora!_

I leapt onto the far bank and was in an instant, speeding over the leaves, ducking and weaving through the trees, like the rustle of the breeze, leaving the clear, freshly made moccasin print in the wet mud of the creek bank. I had gone farther than I had meant to, if she had called for me I would not have heard. Minutes later I broke out of the trees onto the opposite bank from where I had left my charge. Barely a moment after I saw her sitting safely on the grass, rebandaging her feet, I was splashing through the water toward her. She rose with a gasp when she perceived me approaching.

"We must go!" I hissed, but if she noticed my laps in language she did not mention it as she began fumbling urgently with the cloth on her feet.

I caught up my pack which I had left with her and bent a moment to replace my footwear, then I grasped her hand and whispered, [North—run.]

She gave me a look with a half raised eyebrow. _Of course she did not know the direction!_ I pointed it out with my finger and she went. I hastily covered the marks of out late presence on the bank. And after her I followed, covering our trail with leaves and stones as my father had taught me, always keeping her limping form in sight. When I deemed we had gone far enough, I straightened my stooped back and took my place at Cora's side. After that I supported her as she limped, and directed our path.

[What was it that caused our hasty departure?] She asked suddenly as we paused a moment to drink a few sips of water.

[There are others in these woods. Hurons, Mohawks, Oneidas, I do not know which. All are enemies.]

[But the Mohawk and Oneida tribes are our English allies,] she exclaimed, [they would not harm us; indeed they would aid us in our plight!]

I glanced at her as I replaced the flask, [Perhaps they are allies of the English, but not of the Mohicans.]

She shook her head and seemed to be inclined to let the subject drop, though she still held to her own opinion. I could not really blame her for her thinking, for her people had a habit of mixing all relations up till enemies fought together and brothers were caught on opposing sides. It was because of the complicated geography of our lands that the English, French, and before them, the Dutch, separated us and set us against each other. To them it was incomprehensible that this tribe which lived so near another could not be at peace and that this branch of that tribe which was in French territory was not at enmity with the other branch of the same nation who made their dwellings on English land.

It was late when we halted our flight, and Cora sat tiredly down upon a fallen tree. I sat down near her and passed her her share of the food. [We wilt go no further tonight.]

She did not answer at once, but after several moments said, [What food is left over?]

I was silent, I could lie to her, and replace my own portion or I could tell her the truth: that she held the last of it. It was too late to set a snare, yesterday's catch was a chance in a thousand. Usually it took days if not weeks for the scent of man to leave the twine and an animal to wander into it.

[There will be none tomorrow, but perhaps on the day after we will be far enough for me to hunt properly,] I finally answered.

Then I motioned her to lay down and sleep.

Darkness was falling quickly and suddenly I wondered if my reaction to the sight of the print had been excessive. I had no reason to believe it was an enemy's and yet, I could not have justified staying to learn more of its origin. Truly, I was the last of my people, content to avoid all companionship. If I had been alone I would have had no reason to fear, I was confident of my own stealth and powers to defend myself if necessary.

Once more I watched through the night, more alert than before because of the knowledge of others in the vicinity. We had not got far from the water, perhaps four miles at most. We were all too close for my peace of mind. Sleep would be very long incoming, for in heading north I had lengthened our journey. Perhaps I would find some place to hole up and sleep….


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no set schedule for posting as you probably know by now (though you can sneak over to FF.Net to read ahead, 'cause there are more chapters there). I write when I can (and I post chapters here when I can). As I mentioned before my notes are abstract, so I am debating writing out multiple chapters before posting them so that I can get a feel for how I am planing on reconciling Cora and Uncas to each other and how long this story will be.
> 
> What are your thoughts? Any ideas on how to get Cora to trust Uncas? I'm thinking that saving her life is very low on that list. (Really, how many times has he already done that?) Alice was always Cora's priority, and it seems she has no priorities anymore, I really don't know how that happened.

The moon had risen, and the September cool was seeping into my bones. Pale light filtered through the leaves and a sudden breath of frigid air lifted the tone edge of my hunting-shirt. An involuntary shiver shook my shoulders and goosebumps rose an my arms and torso. My sore shoulder throbbed dully and I wrapped my arms around myself. The weather change was sudden, but not unexpected. It had been growing steadily colder over the passing weeks, now the temperature would drop more quickly and the days would soon be nearly as cold as the nights.

To keep my aching eyes open I took the rabbit fur I had saved and began scraping the extra flesh and fat from it. I regretted now that I had buried the brain of the animal, tanning it would be a hard task without it. As the stars and moon moved above my head in their eternal dance of solo beauty I toiled over a task which I hoped would never be completed. If it ever was, well then I would have been in these woods far longer than was wise.

Cora stirred from time to time, and each time I glanced up at her. _Sleep. I have nothing for you. The cold will pass, sleep._ I murmured in my head. But she did not. With a sudden, violent shiver she awoke. For a moment she was still as her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her. Then she sat slowly upright.

I looked back down at my hands, which had not once stoped their work.

[Is the dawn yet far off?] Cora whispered.

[Yea,] I confirmed, still not raising my eyes.

For a time the only noises which reached my ears were those of a lone whip-poor-will's triple trill and the scraping of my knife against the skin. The leaves rustled and again my torn shirt lifted, what had once reached my mid thigh now hovered just below my hips. Bandages were necessary, clothing only helpful. I was used to the cold.

I continued my scrapping. Shoes were also necessary. Comfortable, warm shoes that did not cause blisters. An owl hooted somewhere. The whip-poor-will called out again. Familiar sounds, sounds that brought to mind memories of—

_No! They are dead!_

[Do I deceive myself, or is it colder than it was yesternight?] She asked suddenly as though unable to stand the silence a moment longer.

I looked up at her gratefully, [Thee have felt the changing of the season. 'Tis colder.]

She listened to the short explanation with her eyes fixed on my face, when I had finished, she nodded and curled her arms about herself. Finding that she did not wish to continue the discourse, I returned my attention to my work. I could block my thoughts off, and I would.

For many minutes we continued sitting in comfortable silence. Ever, as I scraped at the scrap of hide in my hands was I aware of her shivers; but not till her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably did it occur to me that she, who was from England, being also a highly born woman, would be unaccustomed to such discomforts as cold.

_Of course if their officers must sleep in cabins and warm themselves with fires and woolen blankets, how must a woman, whom they shelter from all difficulty, and hold almost sacred, fare in this breeze?_

My eyes drifted up to her huddled form as I considered her. She appeared, at my first glance, much the same as she had when she had sung over her sister amid the cracks of the muskets.

_Here 'tis safe, here 'tis warm,  
_ _Hear the guns, they guard you from every harm,_

I heard the soft words sung, I heard the screams, I smelt the smoke, I felt the suffocating darkness. I saw her bending tenderly over her younger sister, holding her to her breast, rocking her soothingly. The child sobbed, the woman sang, the men battled, the night waned.

_Hear the Hurons' pieces, their aim…  
_ _Hear me sister, I love you._

Her love for her had been all consuming. On the hill, what had she done? Leaped to her sister's side instead of fleeing from the enemy at her back. At Glenn's, what had she done? Sent us away instead of begging for help. She had been willing to surrender to Magua if it saved her sister, only the chance that her sister loved her more than her own life had saved her then. I blinked away those memories.

The pale moonlight caught on her hair in the same fashion as it had in the blockhouse, but so different was her face! Blank and chattering with cold it was. I then considered, first, lending her my cotton shirt, but what good would a single extra layer be? And next I considered leaving her be, from what I had seen of her and her reaction to any physical contact which she had not initiated, I guessed she would not take kindly to my wrapping my arms around her shoulders till the dawn. I myself did not relish the idea of holding her so closely either. Such a gesture, though perhaps a necessity in this case, meant more to me than forcing her to eat or drink. It was an gesture that only family and close friends made to one another, my father had done so for me in my younger years before I had grown accustomed to the cool. Such and act showed that a person cared deeply about the slightest comfort of the other. Often in winter Hawkeye and I, or Chingachgook and I would sleep back to back for warmth while the odd one out would keep watch—but Hawkeye was family and in winter warmth was what kept you alive. On the rare occasion that we were at Glenn's at that time of year we slept with a fire and blankets and no guard. This woman was a stranger. She would not die if left in this breeze.

[Why art thou staring at me?] Cora questioned sharply, bringing me from my musings.

I blinked. And stumbled for an answer. [You are unused to the wind and the bite of the cold] I stated, about to offer my warmth, not because I wanted to but because it was what Hawkeye would have expected from me.

[No!] She snapped, cringing away from me, [I shalt not lie with thee, whatever the pretense! Leave me!]

I stared at her in confusion, my mind not quite translating her words, before understanding all at once what she feared. Disgust crossed my features. _What must it be like to live in a place where a woman could fear such a thing!_ I did not reach for her, I did not move even a muscle. She was like the fawn I had befriended as a child—scared and skittish, but if I could convince her to trust me, a decent companion. Well maybe not a decent companion, she was slow, weak, loud, ignorant, and a host of other things.

Slowly, decidedly, I spoke to allay her fears.

[You know naught of Indians if you would fear that! No man, of any nation or tribe, would ill-treat a woman. Kill and scalp one, yes—but never that.] A thought strikes me, but I put it away. Even Magua was not so base.

She still eyed me warily, but I had returned to my thoughts, relived that she had refused my offer before I had even given it, but troubled by the conduct of her people. The person of a woman was sacred to me—to my father, to all natives of this land—and I had thought that true of the whites as well after witnessing the conduct of Gamut and Heyward and countless other officers and settlers. Though again, I had had few occasions to see any man in the presence of a woman who was not his wife or sister. I had apparently been wrong. The men from over the great water were stupid, arrogant, liars, cheaters, proud, strange, weak… but worst of all, they were dishonorable. They had been given women to cherish and protect, but they had not done so.

The night faded slowly. The moon reluctantly set. The stars disappeared one by one, as though they wished to prolong the time I had to spend beneath the trees.

The sun had barely risen before we had resumed our journey once more. The breeze still blew, but softer now. And around us the forest awoke. A few birds sang, a rustle in the underbrush betrayed a squirrel's position. The grey light that pervaded the area slowly warmed as the sun rose higher in the heavens. The evening chill began to slowly wear off, and at high-noon it was quite comfortable. It was then that we paused to rest. We had eaten no food in the morning and we ate none now as we rested under a sugar-sapling. I rebound Cora's feet, which had become accustomed to the constant use and had given up bleeding, and treated my own shoulder, which, as I had not had the occasion to fire my musket for some time, was healing speedily. I gave her the water flask and she drank, then we were off again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to add some of Cora's perspective, so if you see the date at the top of the chapter you will be reading from Cora's POV. Also I want to thank MohawkWoman (on FF.Net) for her thoughts, she was a great help with her information about NY and her thoughts about how Cora and Uncas could come to an understanding.

**_(September 8)_ **

I was shivering with cold, the memory of my nightmare lingering, but the moment I sensed his intentions the heat of fury and fear warmed me. I had no one to protect me, and what was I against a warrior so powerful? I had seen him in battle, strong, steady, deft— _how many had fallen by his hand?_

I cringed away from the Mohican, who sat in a dim moonbeam, praying wildly that he would leave me be. I had only my Heavenly Father between me and that dishonor—that unspeakable horror—that this man so surely intended. But the young Mohican did not move, he did not even blink. For a moment he dropped his emotionless mask and I saw confusion, then understanding, then horror and disgust. At least his disgust might protect me. It never occurred to me in my frightened state to wonder about his first reaction—confusion and horror.

 _God, my Father, please…._ I prayed

Then, very decidedly he spoke.

[You know naught of Indians if you would fear that!] He exclaimed, with the passion of one who wished wholeheartedly to be believed. [No man, of any nation or tribe, would ill-treat a woman. Kill and scalp one, yes—but never _that_.]

I scooted back, still eyeing him with distrust—what I had woken to was far too similar to my dream—but he had dropped his eyes and once more begun to scrape at something in his lap with his glinting knife. Never once did I drop my gaze, and no movement he made escaped my notice, even in the dark. But from all I could see he did not even look up at me. Whether that was because he was uncomfortable or he simply didn't want to, I could not guess.

The heat that had come from my anger wore off. I was cold, so very cold, I was also the daughter of my father, a scotswoman through and through—I would not let a little breeze break me! Time passed—each minute was an age. Each half hour—a lifetime. The heavy, impenetrable darkness hung over me as the moon moved through the sky. I could not bear the deathly silence that was broken by the haunting cries of some type of bird. I was fearful of the night— _Like a child._ _Only a child._ I scorned myself. _I am a grown woman, and yet I cringe at shadows._ Only the burning stars comforted me, but I could not glance up to reassure myself.

My legs were the first to become numb, then my feet. The only comfort I could find in that was that I could no longer feel the cold in those limbs. I tried shifting my weight, put that only brought on the most horrible pain that as a child I had referred to as 'pins and needles'. I rather'd the numbness than the needles.

The sun had barely risen before we had resumed our journey once more. My eyes were sore and I was exhausted. My feet and legs protested. For the first while I stumbled along alone as the shooting pains and stiff sores and jelly-like weakness of my legs caused me to totter—I would not except _his_ help. Soon, though, the pain abated, my legs regained their former strength and I once more felt the cold wind. It blew bitingly, nipping at my face, and freezing my toes. The dew soaked me to the bone, or, rather, soaked what part of me that was still dry. My teeth chattered uncontrollably, but the man at my side did not seem to notice. I was glad he did not.

The light brightened and slowly the woods warmed considerably. By high-noon I was warmed and dried. My healing feet were tender, but I could bear that pain, it was my legs which trembled and shuddered—no longer from lack of circulation, but from over use of unaccustomed muscles. _How could anyone walk this far?_

My memory of my nightmare waned. The fear depleted. The memory of what I had said and implied caused hot blood to flush my cheeks. I stumbled more sharply than usual and Uncas offered me his arm for support, and I took it, wondering how he could still be so polite to me, who had so brashly insulted him. The sun continued to wash away my fears from the night before and my stomach rumbled plaintively. Uncas must have heard it, or he simply had an internal clock which informed him of the time, for he slowed and stoped beneath a tree.

I sank down gratefully when Uncas— _when did I begin thinking of him by his name? How do I even know his name?_ —gestured me to halt. He squatted down near me with his back to me and dug around in the bag, which he unslung from his shoulders, and pulled something out. He turned and I half expected him to hand me some food, but he only handed me the water. And I remembered. _We have no food._

I drank sparingly of it, not caring much to put liquid in my empty stomach. I had never felt so strangely before, I was hollow at my core and it was altogether unpleasant. But I did not complain, I did not wish to speak at all, for as the sun had risen I had become ashamed of my words spoken in the dark after being woken from a nightmare by the cold into an environment, which I should have been used to, but was not yet.

[Your feet must be rebound,] he announced, but his face was guarded, worried, tentative— _He is afraid of scaring me._

I drew up my skirt and hid my face in shame. Of course it embarrassed me to show him—a male outside of my family—so much skin, but it was the fact that he was so hesitant that twisted my gut. He had done nothing wrong. It had been only a dream, a nightmare brought on by the memory of the dead Duncan and a story I had heard as a girl. It had been Magua in the dream, but…. But that hadn't mattered, I had been skittish and ashamed, in the cold and dark, trying and failing to start a conversation with the one person I knew who seemed to hate speaking. He had ignored me until suddenly I had looked up about to say something, anything, and he was staring at me with a speculative look on his face. The same look Magua had had on the hill while he asked—to put it nicely—me to marry him.

Uncas gently unbound the cloth on my feet and did something with it, I did not see what, for it was not till I heard the tearing of fabric that I looked up. He had removed his shirt and torn it into strips. I was too stupefied to look away. My mind had yet to catch up to the present. The red-bronze skin of his chest seemed no lighter than on any other part of him so I guessed that he often went without his shirt, which would explain why he had no qualms about it now. Even so he did not meet my gaze and he bound my feet up with some of the medicine he made with the leaves in his pouch. It only made me feel worse that the was using his own clothes to bind my injuries. I was the one with all the cloth—my woolen skirt alone was made up of multiple yards, not to mention my cotton petticoat and woolen riding coat. But of course he would not dare even ask after what I had said.

I glanced up at him again but quickly turned away. _How am I supposed to hold a conversation with a half naked man? How am I supposed to even look at him?_

Ignoring the natives who were not decently dressed had been my ploy when I had seen them on the rare occasion in the settlements—those who were properly clothed I had watched curiously for I loved to learn about other cultures. It had worked quite well for me then.

_But how was I to do so now when that indecently dressed man was my only companion?_

My brief glance had been enough to tell me he bore a scattering of white scars across his broad chest as well as a strange bright-blue tattoo of a tortoise on his breast. He also had a long, recent gash across his ribs and on his right shoulder was a large, peeling scab—the same injury I had seen so briefly in the blockhouse.

I hid my face again and pulled my feet under my skirt. That made me feel slightly better, but I still had the problem of being in a perfectly scandalous position. _It had been acceptable when my sister was—_ I choked the though back. _Alice…._

I could not afford to retreat into myself as I had done before. Yet I could hardly be the woman I was around my family with a strange, half-dressed man, even if I knew he would protect me if he could. I had but a few moments longer of rest before he muttered, [We must go now.]

I nodded and stood up, dusting myself off. Then we were walking again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see I have figured out a way to explain Cora's reaction from the last chapter. What are your thoughts? Did the way I handled it make sense?  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

It was late evening when we came across the ravine. I was familiar with the area, there were fish in the creek that wended through the bottom. And, if my memory served me, a cave of sorts. Of course it had been many summers since I had last been in the area. It could have caved in or have become be the den of some wild creature. That was a risk I had had to take in coming here. As a child I had explored all I came across—the trees, the rocks, the animals, the dirt, the water, everything. The trees were different than I remembered—smaller, taller, more overgrown—one was fallen, but it mattered not—I knew the way. Conscious of Cora stumbling loudly behind me, I slipped down and found myself at once in the water. The cold was distant for a moment as my buckskin leggings protected me, and then the ice-like water seeped through. I began wading upstream. Behind me I heard a shriek, I turned; Cora had lost her balance and was half sliding, half running down the steep incline. I grabbed at her as she passed me and she splashed to a halt. "Watch out." I exclaimed, holding her shoulders. "Come."

She was suddenly very near, too near, and I released her and waded through the shallow water. _This is not how I remember it. The tall rock… overhanging moss…._

Coming to the rock, which was far smaller than I remembered, I pulled away the curtain of moss and fern and allowed myself a tight smile. _It is still here, and as yet, uninhabited. Smaller than I remember… no, I was smaller, now I am grown._ Then I saw it. The small child-bow, the flint knife, the feathers, the play fire, the fishing nets made by my father for me….

I closed my eyes briefly against the memories associated with the objects and then hauled myself up and in. The ceiling was low, but there was room for three men to sleep shoulder to shoulder or two with space between. Unslinging my packs and 'Killdeer' and shoving them in before me, I crawled in to the back of the burrow and sat up slowly. My head only just brushed against the damp dirt ceiling. Suddenly the dim light was blocked. My eyes immediately began making up for the change of illumination.

[What is this place?] a soft, curious voice asked.

I started and glanced over my shoulder. Cora had stuck her head into the entrance, blocking out the evening light, but my surprise stemmed from her speaking at all—she had ignored me all day.

[It is a place to rest. A place I once knew. It is safe.] I assured her, wondering if I was forgiven for the misunderstanding of the night before. A sudden thought struck me. _Would she be comfortable with me taking my rest?_

Her silhouette nodded and she crawled in after me. [Thee shouldst sleep, thee canst not expect to be able to keep alert another night's watch. If we are as safe as you say, sleep,] she declared, leaving no room for argument.

I opened my mouth, then I closed it once more. She was right, six days without rest was pushing the limits of my endurance. If I was not careful I could become sick, sluggish, weak…. I needed sleep. _Well, my earlier worry is put to rest._ Without answering, I position the leathern letter case as a pillow and lay myself down, my face to the nearest wall, and closed my eyes.

Cora muttered something in a strange language under her breath, and then as I drifted off amid the music of the gurgling creek, I relaxed fort the first time in many days.

_I open my eyes lazily, taking in a deep breath of fresh air as I do so. I stare up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. The dapped green effect has always served to cause wonder to me, especially when the wind stirs the branches and the shadows flit here and there. I grin, roll onto my stomach, and creep down the incline carefully. The creek glistens like burnished steel in the summer sun, it reflects the images of the trees, the sky, the bank—but all are warped. I lean out farther and see my own face, framed by the blue sky. I grin at myself and then commence to twist my features into expressions at which Hawkeye always laughs—his real laugh, not his silent one. A fish darts by and my attention is diverted. It has a dark olive green background with light wavy markings on the back, and red spots on the sides. Its lower fins are striking, with bright white edging separated from the mostly red fin by a black line._

_I lean over farther… minutes pass… another swims over, but stops just out of my reach. I stretch out my hands and will the fish closer… it doesn't move. So I plunge my hands in the water wait. The sun sets and with it goes the warmth and all light. The dirt of the bank becomes frozen beneath me, the water becomes like liquid ice, but still I wait for the shimmering trout. The moon rises and I can once more see the fish, still swaying just out of my grasp. My hands seem larger—stronger, scarred deeply, darker even—my arms are longer—to fit my hands— and yet I cannot reach the fish. The moon is overhead now and the trout begins to move. Slowly… slowly it comes to me… and I grasp it with my bare hands._

_The chance is instant. One moment I an holding a wriggling fish, the nest my my fingers are wrapped around my father's neck. But that is not all, the creek has become still as glass and as hot as fire. My lower half—the part of me on the bank—is frozen stiff, my arms—the part of me in the water–are burning. Fire licks my hands, my father's face morphs in pain, he is slowly burning alive._

_"Father!"_

_My eyes catch each little detail—the strange way his hunting-shirt burns, the blood wreathing his face, his scalp-less head, the…—tears pour down my cheeks and splash into the still water, causing strange ripples across the surface of the image. He continues to burn before my eyes, and try as I might, I cannot drag him through the window. I cannot pull him through the water. I cannot release his neck, nor pull him close, I cannot even join him in death._

_And then he is but a trout—a trout with a dark olive green background with light wavy markings on its back, which look much like the markings a worm makes in the mud, or on a pice of wood under the bark, and red spots on its sides; its lower fins are mostly red, but have bright white edging separated by a black line from the rest—and I release it in horror. The fish darts away and I am left, cold, on the bank._

_"Father…" I whisper as the tears drip into the water._ The dream faded, and I slept peacefully once more.


	8. Chapter 8

**_(September 10)_ **

I nodded my head in understanding. If he said it was safe then I trusted him I remembered his words: _Hawkeye requested it. It is my duty,_ he had said. I remembered Hawkeye's cordial bluntness and honesty. He had decided for some inexplicable reason to lay down his life if necessary for myself and my sister. That was a decision which even my own countrymen had not always made in war. Women were important, and to be protected, but in the heat of the moment they could be left behind and mourned after. Indeed my only argument with the Mohican's choice of hiding place was how inaccessible it was. The steep hill, the tangled trees, the cold swift-flowing water, the mud…. I supposed that those were all the reasons that he had chosen it for. Though tactically it could not be defended. Then again if it came to a battle we would lose before it began. One man forced to stay in one position to defend a defenseless woman against however many was a dead man.

I placed my hands gingerly on the damp earth and scrabbled at the bank with my bandaged feet. _Drat!_ The unladylike word exploded in my mind. The bandages were a nuisance, but I understood why Uncas had chosen to bind my feet with them, even though the blisters were almost entirely healed. I managed to get up into the tunnel of sorts, but it was harder to climb than I remembered.

_What had changed?_

_My hight?_

_No,_ I thought as my dress tore, 'ti _s my clothes. I didn't use to run wild in ankle-length riding-habits._

Carefully I crawled forward. In but a few feet the tunnel opened up into a small, cavelike area. The ceiling was low, the room was spacious enough it seemed. Uncas was sitting at the end, but my back blocked most of the light so I could barely make him out. I shifted to the side and the light once more slipped in gently.

[Thee shouldst sleep, thee canst not expect to be able to keep alert another night's watch. If we are as safe as you say, sleep.] The words slipped from my lips without my intending them to.

 _He really does need sleep,_ I reflected, _I have heard tell of soldiers on guard duty going without sleep for several days, but those tales were no doubt embellished for us ladies and they had been dire situations. Now that I have seen a man go without sleep for so long I wonder that any had even thought to tell those stories so lightheartedly!_

Without giving a reply he seemed to collapse down onto the ground. For a moment I frowned at him in disapprobation, [Je ne voulais pas que vous—tant pis. Dormir,] I muttered and turned away.

I listened to the rushing water outside, before yawning and making my decision. [Lighten my darkness, I beseech Thee, O Lord; and by Thy great mercy defend me from all perils and dangers of this night, for the love of Thy only Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen, ] I prayed as had been my custom every night I had spent in the colonies.

I lay down, as far from my Indian guardian as possible without touching the dirt wall, his musket between us, and tried to sleep. But I couldn't. Sleep eluded me. I was cold—my dress though tailored for travel and riding was not meant for a long trek through the wood on foot, nor to spare me from the cold. I was lonely—my sister whom I loved and the close friend whom I had known since my youth, whom I had allowed myself to foolishly lose my heart to, were gone… dead. I was afraid—of the creatures of the wilds, of the nightmares which haunted my sleep, of the bugs, of the bloodshed which would replay being my closed eyelids the moment I shut them, of a myriad of other things. I wanted to run into my father's arms and sob—but I could not, he was not here. I shut my eyes in hopes of sleep, but the idea that any number of worms and beetles could be anywhere near me drove sleep away as surely as the sun drove away the dark. I had slept above ground in leaves and brush despite the possibility of those creatures, but this was different. I was beneath the ground, bugs could be over and under me as well as on either side. It was horrible!

_Spiders… grubs… beetles…._

I shuddered and concentrated on the creek, on the dim memory of the waves from my early childhood, on the memory the waves on the voyage from England. _The water was so different, the same element—yes—but in one place sweet, the other salty and bitter_. Here it flowed swiftly in one direction, curving around rocks, dancing over stones, carving a path through the woods, the Atlantic Ocean had been cold, cruel, an ever moving creature rippling as far as the eye could see, with swirling currents below the surface, and the Caribbean Sea had been a warm, glittering gem in comparison, a myriad of colors and moods— _how long since I had seen that ocean? Twenty years? Seventeen was more like it._

I missed the warm sea breeze, but I missed my bath-tub more, and my maid Nelly and, and… my mind flitted over memories of dances and parties, over quiet dinners at home, over hunts and rides out in the country. None of that had prepared me for this journey.

The steadily fading light suddenly vanished completely. Night had fallen like a thick woolen blanket, but it brought no warmth.

[Nuxa!] The word ripped from Uncas' lips in a strangled, desperate way, and he turned suddenly.

I startled so badly that I sat up and bumped my head. I stared at the place where I knew he lay, but though my eyes strained they could not pierce the dark. It seemed like hours that I watched before he moved again, and then it was only a slight shift which I only detected because of the the word he whispered:

[Nuxa….]

For a long while more I studied his still form, but he seemed to have relaxed into untroubled sleep once more. Finally I lay back down, but my thoughts no longer wandered. Instead they were fastened on the object at my back. I had seen it glint in the sun, so beautifully polished, with hardly a nick upon its varnish. I longed to test its range, to feel its recoil. How different was it from the short hunter's gun I had hunted with in England, or the pistol that my father always kept on the mantle, or my great-grandfather's 'ancient' gold-gilded matchlock? I had heard its report a hundred times it seemed, in the caves behind the falls, on the hill during the rescue, in the blockhouse….

_A hunter's musket is not a proper accessory for an gentlewoman, Cora! No, and neither are the wild thoughts that accompany the use of such a weapon! I will not examine it nor ask to!_

_Nuxa? What did that mean?_ I had not the faintest idea. It had haunted my protector's dreams. _A person perhaps, or a cry for help? Niluna kënch may? What did that mean? Considering the context perhaps it meant_ Run! _or_ Enemies are at hand! _? Tèka, kapa, what had that meant,_ Careful! _?_

Somehow trying to decipher his language lulled my mind fro sleep. French, Italian, German… not to mention my father's native Scottish, were all languages I had learned. _Surely Delaware could not be all that difficult to master._ My eyes closed. Sleep, dreamless sleep, fell upon me and my breath evened out.

I woke some hours later, wonderfully rested. The hidden stones dug sharply into my back, I was stiff, sore and my feet were half numb with cold. I sat up slowly and stretched my arms as best I could in the enclosed space. Then I saw it. The grub on my skirt. I shrieked soundlessly, and slithered out of the burrow as quickly as I could. My feet plunged into the water and this time I squeaked aloud. Shivering, I splashed over to a protruding rock near the far bank and sat down. Then to the music of my rumbling stomach I debated whether to take a dip as well as give my clothes a wash, or not. The water was cold as ice, the sun was not yet overhead, and I was coated in grime. My riding habit was in worse condition, and I dared not wonder what my undergarments were like. I shuddered at the thought. I dipped a foot in the water and the loose bandage swirled away in the current.

[Ahhh! Cold!] I gasped, and drew my foot back out. I glowered at the water and very deliberately stepped off my perch and into the cold. With trembling fingers I unplaited my wavy, now oily and dirty, black hair. Carefully I began removing each article of clothing as quickly as I could. The moment it was off I plunged it beneath the flow and scrubbed and beat it till it at least bore the semblance of being clean. Then I hung it on an overhanging branch. Finally I was standing in only my petticoat. The skin of my feet and legs took on a blueish tinge and goose flesh rose on every inch of my body. My teeth chattered and my whole person shook with each shiver. After a brief argument between the different parts of my mind, I waded out to the deepest part of the creek and plunged myself in and under.

The water was indescribably cold—

—bitterly cold,

—numbing,

—glacial,

—bitting.

Quickly I scrubbed at myself and and the surged up, gasping for air. Once more I crouched down and rubbed my legs, my chest, my hair, all of me—and then I splashed out and onto the steep bank. There I wrung myself out as best I could and danced around in the sunlight. My stomach had ceased to complain, or at least, I could no longer feel it. I was cold. What had ever possessed me to think it was a rational idea to take a dip? My teeth were chattering uncontrollably, I was afraid I would bite my tongue off so I kept my mouth clamped tight—not that that kept me from chattering.

Gradually I became accustomed to the cold. I was once more able to glance about me and appreciate the beauty of nature. Even after eleven days in the wilderness, I had not yet ceased to be amazed by my surroundings. The trees and undergrowth were unknown to me, though some were similar to those in Europe. I longed to draw them— _oh for an easel and colors!_ But imprinting them on my mind would have to do. The vivid colors the reds and golds and greens astonished me, who was accustomed to the stately, reserved, dreary winters of the British Isles.

_Oh those happy girls, they had envied Alice and I, oh how they had! But what was there to envy now? Hardship? Fear? Loss? The romantic notion of being lost in the wilderness of the Americas in the midst of a war? The romance of the possibility that some handsome English soldier of good fortune would stumble upon me and save from the clutches of some evil? That I would marry that hypothetical and imaginary man? No, there is no romance in my plight, only tragic hardship that there is every reason I will not survive. No the girls would not envy me and if they did, well, they would be shallow fools._

Even so, I could envy them their luxury.

I stood up to check my clothes, the wind that had picked up, had dried them as well as me. I was cold through, my garments were dried stiff, but I was clean and I had the sensation of having done something worth my while. I dressed myself and plated my hair. It had been hard, indeed harder than many things I had done, but it was done and I was no longer afraid of the cold waters. I was reminded of my early childhood swimming excursions. Mama had taken me swimming with Papa. She had taught me to ride a horse astride, to calm one, to love one, to master one. She had imparted to me her love of all dumb beasts.

But my mother was just a face, one with lustrous black hair piled high atop her head, a playful smile, tender eyes, rustling silk… so many half memories…. She had been there one day, the next… she was gone. A horse gone wild at the sight of a flapping banner. A scream as she was thrown to the ground, thrashing hooves as she tried foolishly to calm her mount. Papa said she went without pain, instantly. A well aimed hoof. A crushed skull. A widowed man left with a young daughter. Painful memories at every turn. He had tried to continue… but within a year he had packed our life up and we were gone from that warm, welcoming home. My grandfather had stood on the dock watching us sail away—that I remembered clearly.

Then we were in England, it had been cold, unwelcoming. I remembered heated conversations, threats, my father's arms around me. His tears. And then Mother Alice. She had been sweet, kind—she had loved me as her own. Taught me little things, played my games, answered my endless questions—given me Nelly. Nelly, my governess, my teacher, my maid, companion and friend. She had also given me Alice, a sister, daughter—someone to shower with love, someone to teach. Oh, I had loved Mother Alice! But she too had died.

Papa had told me of Mama's death on my fourteenth birthday. He had described, it in detail, each bloody drop. He had wept with me and talked over every memory I had of her. But after that experience, after I had walked slowly from the sitting room, I had wondered why he had allowed me anywhere near a horse. I had had a friend who's aunt had been killed by a horse and her cousins had been forbidden to go anywhere near horses. When I had asked my father he had looked me in the eye and said, _"Cora, my girl, your mother loved the equine species. Loved them with a passion. She didn't care if it was improper to ride astride, she rode like that because she could feel her horse, really feel her mount that way, That grey who killed her—he was her pride and joy. She confided in me once that if she had to die young she wanted to die near-by a horse—preferably killed by one. I asked her why, and she answered, 'I would feel like a foolish weakling to die in any other way!' Only a horse was strong enough in her opinion to be a viable way to die. Childbirth—she hated it. Drowning—horribly unremarkable. Crushed beneath a wall—it could happen to anybody and it only showed how stupid you were to stand near an unsteady wall. Crushed beneath a horse—either you had absolutely no control of the circumstances, or were incredibly stupid or brave. In her opinion, she was not stupid around horses and thus her death could only be out of her hands, or, entirely of her own choice."_ I had understood what he meant, Mama would not have wished him to take away from me what had been so central in her life. She would not have wanted me to be helpless around horses. So I was well taught. I could ride well, I knew how to buy a horse, how to look for good points of confirmation, to tell a horse's age, to see lameness. And a hundred thousand other things about them.

From what Papa had told me of her, she would have been entirely unfazed by this untamed wilderness. She, he had claimed once, was without fear as any mortal could be. Hunger gnawed at my insides, but I ignored it. There would be no food till Uncas awoke, and I would not be waking him. A young, single woman simply did not wake a half clothed man who was entierly unrelated to her.

The sun rose higher and I warmed slowly. My suddenly heavy lids drooped….

A soft voice at my ear woke me.

I sat up, unconsciously straightening my skirt. [Hmmm?]

A dark, familiar face hovered before me. Sharp, kind, eyes peered at me. A blue turtle stood out upon the man's chest. I raised my eyes to his questioningly once more.

[Eat.]

Then I saw the charred, steaming parcel in his outstretched hand. I took it tentatively, but the smells wafting up from it caused my mouth to water. Sweet, tangy, even. I unwrapped the leaves and saw the fish, baked to perfection. I smiled. [Thank you,] I murmured, and began to peel off the green scales. White steam rose into the cool air and in a very unladylike manner I nearly inhaled the pinkish flesh, so quickly did I eat. When I was finished my fingertips were burnt, as well as my tongue. A neat pile of bones lay on the charred leaf wrapping. I looked up at Uncas, self-conscious of my bad manners, he was sitting on the ground watching me with a half smile, clearly amused by the show. His own repast I saw balanced on his leg, half-eaten and forgotten. With a sniff I stood, evening was falling, I lifted my skirts daintily and waded through the water. Without a backward glance I crawled into the den and lay myself down to sleep. [Lighten my darkness, I beseech Thee, O Lord; and by Thy great mercy defend me from all perils and dangers of this night, for the love of Thy only Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.]

Then sleep took me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Cora's mom's death was fabricated entirely by me. Alice's mom's death during childbirth is book canon.
> 
> [1] This is an excerpt from an encyclopedia which is why I chose Jamaica:  
> Other Europeans learned of the wealth of the West Indies. Pirates from England, France, and the Netherlands attacked Spanish ships and ports and stole valuable cargo. In the 1600's, the Danes, Dutch, English, and French established colonies on the smaller islands. In 1655, the English concurred Jamaica. The French took control of part of Hispaniola in 1697.  
> From the late 1600's through the 1700's, the colonial powers gained great wealth from sugar grown in the West Indies. The Europeans brought millions of black African slaves to the islands to work on plantations.
> 
> [2] Lighten my darkness, I beseech Thee, O Lord; and by Thy great mercy defend me from all perils and dangers of this night, for the love of Thy only Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. This is a prayer I found in:  
> The book of common prayer, and administration of the sacraments, and other rites and ceremonies of the church, according to the use of the Church of England: together with the psalter or Psalms of David, pointed as they are to be sung or said in churches  
> (It is a very old book with a very long title. I edited it slightly, changing the word 'we' to 'I' to make more sense.)
> 
> [3] It is high time I tell you all about my characters background. This is how I understand the Monro family history which the colonel relates to Dunacn in chapter 16 of THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS by J.F. Cooper. It is important to note is that I do not know anyone's exact ages, I will bracket what is canon and leave alone what is mine. Many of my dates are calculated by finding Alice's age, which I made up. So they are true if Alice is 17 in 1757, if she isn't then most are wrong. Anyway here you go:
> 
> If I say that Alice died at the age of 17 in the year [1757], then [Alice Monro (formerly Graham) would have married Colonel Monro a year before Alice Monro was born] (1739) [after waiting twenty years for her former lover to return] which gives me the year 1719 for the year that Monro left.  
> If Cora is 5-6 years older than Alice (that puts her at the age of 22-23 in the year 1757) then that means she was born in 1735-1734. That leads me to believe that Monro 'wandered' for quite some time with the army (10-12 years) before being shipped (1729-1731) to Jamaica (the island I have chosen because of its long standing with England as it was conquered in 1655. See the first note for when the West Indies were colonized.) then after 1 year married Cora's mother (I am giving him time to court her properly, making the year of his first marriage 1730-1732). If I give Monro a year to get from Jamaica to England and marry Alice, then Cora's mom dies in the year 1738, 6-8 years after Cora's parent's marriage. That means Cora would be 3-4 years old at her mother's death and 4-5 years old when Alice becomes her mother and 5-6 when she gains a sister and loses a second mother.
> 
> Here is a timeline that might make more sense:
> 
> 1719 - Monro (26 yrs is the age I have chosen) joins British army  
> 1729-1731 - Monro is shipped to Jamaica  
> 1730-1732 - Monro marries  
> 1735-1734 - Cora is born  
> 1738 - Cora's mom dies  
> 1739 - Colonel Monro marries Alice Graham  
> 1740 - Alice Monro is born, Alice (Graham) Monro dies  
> 1757 - the events of THHC (all I have written or will write in the future)


	9. Chapter 9

When I woke the memory of my dream haunted me, but it quickly faded, leaving only the faint memory of fear and helplessness. My eyes adjusted slowly to the dim lighting. It was strange to wake to darkness, fully rested. My hand reached instinctively to 'Killdeer's' stock. Then I relaxed as I recognized the place. Satisfied, I sat up. My back groaned in protest, stiff and cold. I cracked my neck. With a shrug and a stretch I slithered out of the den with the fishing net and musket. My eyes glanced around, the sun was high in the sky, already on its path down. Cora was asleep, her head resting on a tree trunk. A strange sight, but not so strange as to warrant my attention. Food was my priority. I was hungry and memory served to remind me of the numerous fish who called this creek home. Climbing up onto the near bank I made my way to the small, deep pool where the largest fish lazed away their hours.

The clear, still, water was deep, and the muddy bottom was easily visible. I deftly placed my nets at the mouth of the pool and melted into the woods in search of the leaves in which to wrap the fish I was certain I would catch as they baked. The bright colors of the changing season made it easy for me to find the plant I sought. With my leaves, I returned, but not before setting multiple snares. If Cora was to be shod, I would need the furs.

The I once more stepped down the steep bank I found all as I had left it. Cora was still asleep in the sun, all was at peace. Laying 'Killdeer' down, I took out my long knife and a piece of flint and began striking them against each other. The sparks fell on a pile of shredded leaves and dry grass. Within minutes a fire blazed up on the large flat rock and I let it burn itself down to cooking coals. The comforting cracking and muted whispering tones of the flames lulled my heart to contentment.

 _If only_ ….

I shut my eyes and steeled my heart.

_If only._

The sun fell lower and lower, as night came on. Stretching my arms above my head and cracking my back, I stood, returned to the pool, and checked my nets. As I had remembered there were many fish; therefore I released all but two of the trout that struggled within the embrace strong of the snare. The two wiggled and flopped. Taking pity upon them I took them by their tails and struck them upon a rock and they stilled in death.

I raised my head to listen—a habit which had saved my hide more times than I could count upon my ten fingers. The sounds of the water flowed around me and the whispering of the tree bows above surrounded me. Nothing out of the ordinary. I removed the nets and slung them over my shoulder. There was no need to cause any extra trouble to the fish. I had no more need of them now. Water dripped down my bare back from the wet nets. Goose bumps rose on my arms. Returning to my fire quickly, I wrapped the fish in the leaves and slid them into the coals. Then I covered them as I stirred the red hot coals with a damp stick.

The fire sizzled and sputtered. Taking out the rabbit skin, I lay it upon the ground and examined it. With my knife I pared off the bits of flesh and fat I had missed in the dark. Then taking a handful of strong twigs, I built a frame and stretched the fur upon it. It was hard, as it had begun to dry already, but it was done in the end.

* * *

[Cora? Awaken….]

Her eyes snapped open, and she straightened her slouched posture, smoothing her skirt as she did so. [Hmmm?] She asked, sleep still obvious in her tone.

Her eyes were unfocused as of yet and they flicked from my face to my chest and back in confusion. I could almost hear her wondering who I was. [Eat,] I suggested, and I held out the steaming fish.

Her eyes followed the movement and she reached out for the food uncertainly. With amusement I watched her expression change—a smile spreading across her face as she unwrapped the bundle. [Thank you,] she murmured, and began to peel off the green scales.

I seated my self a little to her left and began unfolding in the coverings of my own fish. The wholesome smells distracted me and for a time I concerned myself only with my food. After a while I was able to control my mad rush at the food and with a bite in my mouth and a burning tongue, I lifted my head to see what my companion made of the meal. The sight which met my eyes was not what I had expected. Gone was the prim and proper woman I had admired in the cave at Glenn's. Before my shocked eyes the fish disappeared, piece by piece down her throat. A smile twitched at the corners of my lips but I held it back.

She glanced up at me and caught my look, with a sniff she stood and lifted her skirts daintily. She was once more the same woman she had been in the cave. But the effect was lost upon me when she began splashing through the water. Without a backward glance she crawled into the den and disappeared from my sight.

_She is a living contradiction! Who was she really, the proper woman, or the careless girl? Or is she a combination—or neither?_

I shrugged and finished my victuals. The sun vanished suddenly down below the edge of the ravine, and I made my way to the low burning fire in the twinkling starlight. Like I had so many times before, I kicked the fire apart and left it to cool upon the rock. Then, picking up 'Killdeer' and the frame which held the rabbit skin, I waded through the water. Just before I entered the den I gazed up at the sky. I could not see far, for the trees and ravine towered above me, but in the distance I saw the clouds which would bring upon us rain and snow. Cold, real cold, not this vague suggestion that had begun yesternight. The winter would come soon this year.

I crawled into the den and lay myself down in the dark.

I shivered.


End file.
